CSX Corporation said that it is continuing freight transportation service
to customers outside of the immediate Gulf Coast storm area by rerouting
rail traffic through its well-established western gateways, including East
St. Louis, Ill., Memphis, Tenn., and Montgomery, Ala., as well as through
its various TRANSFLO and Intermodal facilities.

The most severe storm impact is concentrated on the 100-mile CSX route
between Pascagoula, Miss., and New Orleans, including several bridges.
Repair work has already begun and will take some time to complete.

"Like all companies with operations in the storm area, our primary
concern is locating and assisting our approximately 300 employees and beginning
the recovery process," said Michael Ward, chairman, president and
chief executive officer.

"The physical impact to our rail infrastructure, while significant,
is confined to a relatively small segment of our 22,000-mile network. The
flexibility of our system allows us to continue service beyond the heavily
impacted areas, and the strong fundamentals and outlook for CSX remain
intact," said Ward.

In the third quarter, CSX expects some business interruptions and additional
costs due to rerouting and rebuilding efforts. At this time, the company
expects that insurance over its self-insured retention of $25-million will
be adequate to cover expenses and capital costs of rebuilding.

"CSX has been a citizen of the Gulf Coast region for many decades
and extends its deepest sympathies to the people affected," said Ward.
"As we have done many times before in other areas, we will work closely
with our customers, employees and communities to help restore economic
vitality to the region."

The Initials a Name Make!

An Update From 10 Years Ago . . .

Item from the Bull Sheet, July 1995:

"Gary and Bonnie Taylor of Sanford, Florida, are now the proud
parents of a baby boy whom they had named Charles Samuel years before the
stork arrived. But Bonnie, a crew van driver for CSXT and also a railfan,
came upon a further idea to make the lad's name more complete. By inserting
an X, his initials would honor a certain railroad...

"Thus it is for Charles Samuel Xavier Taylor - initials CSXT."

Could it be that Charlie Taylor may be the only person ever to have
indigenous initials to honor this (or any other) railroad? Perhaps. But
10 years after the fact, I felt it was time to print an update on the fellow's
progress - and to see if he had developed into a railfan...

Bonnie, his proud mom, has offered the following:

Dear Allen,

Thank you so much for your kind letter of June 21, and please forgive
this late reply!

In reference to young C.S.X.T., Charlie is doing very well. Yes, he
does like trains - when I go out to see them, he comes along with me.

He is in the fifth grade now and does fairly well in school. He also
plays sports and some piano.

Charlie and I took two Amtrak trips this year. The first was from Sanford
to Trenton, N.J., where we rented a car and then went to see a program
of the Bethlehem Bach Choir of Bethlehem, Pa. We also saw snow! We had
a sleeper and we both slept really well.

The second trip was about the time your letter came! We took the Auto
Train to Virginia and then went to the mountains, Luray Caverns, Singing
Tower, etc.

Allen, it's all going well so far.

His favorite trains are the Juice Train and the Circus Train.

Best to you,

BONNIE

Charlie Taylor (CSXT), 10 years old

Remembering the Broadway Limited

[By Allen Brougham] . . .

As a kid I spent many hours drooling over passenger train timetables.
I had system timetables from a number of railroads, but one of my favorites
was the Pennsylvania Railroad's offering with its Grif Teller painting
of the Horseshoe Curve on its colorful cover. Inside were all the trains
the company offered, but one in particular really stood out...

The PRR made no secret about it - the Broadway Limited was its premier
train. It was included in the New York to Chicago section along with the
other trains serving the line, but the name Broadway Limited was highlighted
in bold face type. Moreover, the notes at the bottom advised passengers
that the train allowed no discounts - such as those routinely offered on
other trains for clergy, military, non-profit groups, etc. Also, there
were no coaches. Wow! "This must be some kind of train," I reasoned.

Growing up in Monkton I did get to see some of the varnish plying the
Northern Central line - the Liberty Limited being the hallmark train from
Washington to Chicago at the time, also the Washington section of the Spirit
of St.Louis - but the Broadway Limited I would not get to see. It did not
honor its presence by going through Monkton. So I simply imagined.

I did get to see the Broadway's route on occasion - field trips with
my railfanning uncle to Harrisburg, and visits with a friend living in
Valley Forge - but the timing while trackside always eluded the heralded
passage of the Broadway Limited.

I dreamed that some day I could actually get to ride the Broadway Limited
- if only the train could retain its premier status and I could save enough
money to buy a ticket. Indeed, it finally happened, but not until I was
25.

The date was June 3, 1966, a Friday. Originally three of us were planning
to take the trip, but only two of us actually did. Alan Crumbaker, a friend
I had met a couple of years earlier who shared the same passion for trains
as I, carefully plotted an itinerary with me. And we did not want to short-step
the adventure by boarding the train at a close-by mid-point, such as Philadelphia
or Harrisburg - we would travel all the way to New York to take the Broadway
from beginning to end. Also, in keeping with the train's best tradition,
we would book our space in its very finest accommodation.

The Broadway Limited offered six types of sleeping car rooms. Most trains
only offered two, or in some instances up to four or five, but it was a
rarity that a train would offer six. On the Broadway, these included roomettes,
duplex single rooms, double bedrooms, compartments, drawing rooms, and
master rooms. These accommodations were contained in equipment of various
configurations: cars having 10 roomettes and six double bedrooms; cars
having 12 duplex single rooms and four double bedrooms; cars having 11
double bedrooms; a mid-train lounge car with six double bedrooms; cars
having four double bedrooms, four compartments and two drawing rooms; and
an observation car on the rear with one double bedroom and two master rooms.
Passengers could choose their accommodation based upon their specific needs
and/or cost preferences. Roomettes and duplex single rooms had space for
one passenger; the double bedrooms and compartments had space for two;
and the drawing rooms had space for three. By unfolding the walls between
a pair of double bedrooms, there would be space for four.

The master room was slightly larger than a drawing room. It contained
two single lower beds that folded away when not in use, a spacious lavatory
with a shower, and a radio. This was described as the train's 'finest,
most spacious accommodation' for up to two people. There were only two
master rooms assigned to the train, both in the same car, and each carried
the highest room charge of any room available. This is what we wanted!

The railroad then had but two cars with this type of accommodation -
namely the Mountain View and the Tower View - which alternated nightly
on each set of the Broadway's equipment. We soon learned the rotation schedule,
and the car to be assigned on that particular night would be the Mountain
View. But just to make sure, the Saturday before our intended trip, Alan
and I ventured north to Trenton, New Jersey, to watch that particular set
of equipment pass through. The Mountain View should have been assigned,
but it was not. Instead, a substitute car (which had no master rooms) was
being used. Alarmed by this, we called a friend of ours who worked in Baltimore's
passenger sales office a couple of days later, and upon checking he assured
us that Mountain View would indeed be assigned to our train - so not to
worry!

The magical day arrived, and the two of us - smartly dressed in our
finest attire - went to New York. It was our intention to enjoy our ride
to the utmost - and to keep a very low profile that we were actually riding
in pursuit of our hobby of enjoying trains. But this would shortly change...

We left New York exactly on time. We quickly took seats toward the rear
of the observation end of our car, trying our best to appear as though
we were 'typical' Broadway Limited clientele, refined, and only passively
interested in the railroad sights we were passing. Following our departure
from Newark, and being offered selections from the car's tray of hors d'oeuvres
(and I enjoyed a couple of Manhattans from the bar), I had to contain myself
as we slowly overtook an MU commuter train moving in the same direction
as we on the next track over. "Oh, that's interesting!" (or words
to that effect) I said quietly to Alan - rather then shouting "Ooh,
ooh, would you look at that!" Again, we were trying to keep a dignified,
low profile.

But then Alan (discreetly) removed a copy of a PRR employees' timetable
(graciously provided to him earlier by a friend) from his inside jacket
pocket - just to take a brief look... and a fellow seated across from us
rather excitedly said: "Yee, gads, where did you get that?"

Oops! He was a railfan, too. He had blown our cover!

His name was Alec Wilder. He lived in New York, and he was a frequent
patron of the Broadway Limited who enjoyed the luxury of going to Chicago
whenever he wanted - just to 'get out of town.' We quickly became friends.

Our conversations from this point onward were somewhat less low-key
with respect to our hobby than we had first intended. Anyway, many of the
patrons who had been seated in our area had left for, I suppose, dinner
(or at least, I hope they did do so to avoid overhearing railfan banter).
Meanwhile, the train zipped through Trenton, and after our brief stop in
North Philadelphia, we enjoyed a speedy run through the labyrinth of tracks
at Zoo Interlocking and then onto the Main Line toward Paoli.

Our action plan was to go to dinner about the time it got dark, which
Alan and I did. Alec agreed to meet with us for breakfast the following
morning - to be served in our master room. What a treat that would be!

The spacious twin-unit dining car was only slightly patronized as we
entered, and we were seated at a table on the left side by the steward
whose name was Kresl. Our waiter was a seasoned veteran to the craft named
Carter. We soon learned that Mr. Carter was making his very last trip -
he would be retiring the next morning. I believe, too, that we were his
last dinner customers.

"Bon Appetite!" said the menu, which I still have. "The
Broadway Limited bids you welcome to its table... In this dining car -
pride of the Pennsylvania - we are dedicated to making your repast aboard
an exquisite dining experience..." For our entrees, I chose (what
else!) the Broiled Boneless Sirloin Steak ($6.95), and Alan chose the Roast
Prime Ribs of Beef Au Jus ($5.95). Along with the meal came a complimentary
glass of Sherry (to which Alan, who does not drink, gave me his). I now
had two glasses of Sherry, eventually a third (also complimentary). But
the real treat came when the steward offered Alan a second Prime Rib, on
the house, which he accepted. (According to Alan, today's prices would
be $41.50 for my meal and $35.50 for his.)

We sped through Lancaster without stopping, and we returned to our room
by about the time we arrived in Harrisburg. At some point - I cannot remember
precisely when - I took a walk through the train. There were about a dozen
cars, as I remember, plus an RPO car and a baggage car. Patronage was light.

Our train remained on time as we traveled along the Middle Division,
I spending at least a little time tuning the room's radio which was mounted
into a panel. Reception was not great, as I recall, but I believe I picked
up the faint sounds of a selection by Vivaldi at one point.

As we began our ascent into the mountains west of Altoona, and wishing
to see our train go around the Horseshoe Curve, we ventured from our room
back to the lounge section. Once again, this was the rear car in the train.
All of the other passengers had long since vanished, and our obliging porter
extinguished the interior lights to give us a better view. It was awe inspiring;
perhaps the epitome of our trip.

Back in our room, we awaited our speedy passage through Johnstown before
retiring.

So who says you actually have to sleep if you have the most deluxe
accommodation available? Well, I did, but not for long. The excitement
of the moment found me up and about somewhere in Ohio, just as it was beginning
to get light. I took solitary station in the rear seat in the lounge to
watch the landscape disappear back into the distance. It was great! Then
we made a stop - not in the schedule - at Lima. As we left, I saw a lady
walking toward her vehicle carrying a sack of mail.

As breakfast time approached, Alec Wilder came back to our room to join
us. His first order of business was to get a look at the shower room. Indeed,
for as many times as he had ridden the Broadway Limited, he had never before
examined the master room. He was impressed. Our porter brought us a table,
and our respective breakfast selections were brought through the train
from the dining car by the waiter responsible for providing room service.
The diner, as I recall, was about four or five cars up. Sure, we could
have gone to the diner for breakfast... we simply wanted to have breakfast
in the room!

Following breakfast, and some more socializing, Alec and I actually
did venture forward to the diner. All we had was coffee, but we wanted
to be Mr. Carter's very last customers before he retired. We were.

The Broadway Limited covered 907 miles in its overnight run to Chicago.
We were due there 16 hours after we left New York - an average speed of
about 57 miles per hour. But we arrived 15 minutes early! This, I am told,
was the norm, not the exception. The Pennsy really took pride in that train
and its punctual performance.

This, then, was my first and only ride on the 'true' Broadway Limited
- that is, before the train got downgraded with coaches and a slower schedule.
It was quite an experience - one in which its details are so vividly remembered.
And the train was every bit as exciting as what I had envisioned while
drooling over the PRR timetable as a kid many years before.

Coincidentally, Alec Wilder, our railfan friend we met on the trip,
was a rather notable classical and jazz music composer. According to a
biography offered on some websites, he often wrote his music while traveling
on trains. He died in 1980.

'Precious Moments' on the Railroad

[By Allen Brougham] . . .

Scattered throughout previous issues are reminiscences from my 30-year
career on the railroad - many of them fond, some of them not so fond -
but never before have I attempted to catalog into one article those moments
that stand out as being my favorites. Briefly, and in reverse sequence
of when they occurred, here are the top four. Each example assimilates
a contribution to history, an opportunity to represent life on the railroad
to an interested public, and a personal legacy I shall most wish to be
remembered:

October 6, 2000... I was on duty at HO Tower, Hancock, West Virginia...
Miller Tower - my previous duty station - had closed just a week and a
half before. Following a week of vacation, I assumed the second-shift position
at Hancock on October 5. This, then, was my second day at my new duty station.
In fact, I was still in training; George Spies was on duty with me to assist
(but the following day I would work the position by myself). Something
very exciting was about to happen. I knew that it would (it was prearranged).
Two charter buses pulled up outside. They conveyed about 80 members of
the B&O Historical Society who were on a field trip as part of their
annual convention being held that year in Cumberland. They came to visit
the tower. But there were time constraints; they could only stay about
45 minutes, and the tower would only hold about a dozen people at any one
time. Not wishing to deny any of these fine folks the opportunity of a
guided tour, I hurriedly arranged with the tour leaders an assembly-line
type of dialog; they in turn grouped the participants in such a way that
most in the party could inspect the linkage in operation and activities
from outside the building while relays of about a dozen participants could
ascend into the office for a brief visit. I began each session at the bottom
of the steps with a safety blitz, and then led them into the office for
a short talk followed by questions and answers. Meanwhile, George (bless
his heart), agreed to work the desk so I could devote full time to the
visitors. This was fortuitous, as it developed, as a train was making a
setoff within the plant during most of the visit, and I could never have
devoted the time needed for a guided tour had I had to work the desk by
myself. Indeed, that the tower was in such a busy work mode enhanced the
visit for the participants involved, and I know that it was a huge success.
I recall, too, meeting a number of folks for the first time who told me
that they were readers of the Bull Sheet. It was a wonderful experience
for all of us. (I retired from the railroad two months later.)

September 24, 2000... I had spent eight years of duty at Miller Tower,
and this was to be its final day. I had requested the honor of being the
tower's last operator, and my request was granted. Twenty-five people gathered
to be part of its final minutes, and I arranged a ceremony to mark the
locking of the door. Active participants - in addition to myself - included
Michael Koch (clergyman), Tom Kraemer (guitarist), Mario Hendricks (drummer),
Paul Swain (operator), and Marvin Duvall (retired operator). The ceremony
began with a song ('Bless This House,' modified to fit the occasion), a
silent last visit by all in attendance to the interior accompanied by guitar
selections from the Baroque era, a greeting to those assembled, a prayer,
a reading of my final entry onto the train sheet, a three-minute interlude
accompanied by guitar for a silent recessional of past operators who were
there 'in spirit,' a 10-second drum roll, a recessional of the active participants
(I stayed behind), a final sounding of the tower's horn, extinguishing
the interior lights, the locking of the door, and then I descended for
the last time. It was quite emotional. My sense of history told me that
it should be done in no other way. The tower's closing ceremony honored
its century-long legacy.

March 5, 1992... The only other time I got to close a tower was similar
in spirit to the one described above. I had served at JD Tower, Hyattsville,
Maryland, for six and one-half years, and on this particular date I was
honored to be its last operator. Here again, I had requested that honor.
The closing ceremony began at the end of the shift with about 20 people
in attendance. Active participants included Mark Nieting (clergyman), Mario
Hendricks (drummer), Donald Breakiron (retired operator), and Bob Uhland
(former operator). My final entry into the tower's logbook - which I read
aloud - concluded with: "This, then, is my last entry to the JD logbook,
and all operators who have heretofore served this station and are here
with us in spirit, will be invited to depart with us now as I prepare to
lock the door. I value the honor of being the station's last operator.
JD Tower Alexandria Junction, Maryland, rest in piece." Later, the
logbook was given by the railroad back to me, and I still have it.

September 29, 1990... The three examples above surely qualify as 'Precious
Moments,' but what occurred on this particular date shall forever rank
as my all time favorite. HX Tower, Halethorpe, Maryland, had been my duty
station for ten years when it closed in 1985. It was still standing, though,
and in use by the signal department as a maintainer's office. I came up
with an idea to return to the place, with all my friends, for a day of
nostalgia. The division manager agreed to the plan, and on September 29,
two days prior to the actual fifth-year anniversary of its closing, the
tower was reopened for an event known as 'Remembrance Day.' The second-floor
office portion of the building was put to use for the showing of videos,
the parking spots became a picnic area, and an RDC Budd car with tables
(borrowed from MARC) was spotted on the track in front of the tower for
use in socializing. Approximately 90 people - including employees, retired
employees, friends and railfans - came to the tower for 12 hours of pure
fun. As day turned into night, an outdoor slide show emerged in a corner
of the parking lot. It was an event long to be remembered. I was especially
proud of it, and very grateful to the railroad for its superb cooperation
by allowing it to happen.

Some 'Enchanted Places'

[By Allen Brougham] . . .

Growing up in Monkton in my earlier years, I became well acquainted
with 'Winnie the Pooh.' Mr. Milne's stories of Christopher Robin and his
forest friends were a mainstay of my evening, family time activities. The
final chapter of the final book closed with the description of an 'Enchanted
Place,' where Christopher Robin and his beloved bear Pooh parted company.
(Yet they would always remain there in spirit!)

Indeed, we all have our Enchanted Places. Within the past several
weeks, I revisited some of mine. Here they are:

MEADOWHILL:

The family moved to Monkton following the second World War. I was five
years old at the time. My parents wanted to move to the country; my father
needed a home near the train in order to commute to work (we had no car).
The property was known as Meadowhill. This is where I got my own taste
of living in the country, of playing in the stream, of having my very own
dog, of our flock of chickens, of watching the Kentucky bluegrass in the
meadow as it waved in the breeze, of hearing and seeing trains from a distance,
and Winnie the Pooh...

When I was 18, I left Meadowhill and joined the Navy. My father died
a year and a half later, and my mother sold the place. But with the roots
well established in those Glory Years, I always thought of Meadowhill as
an Enchanted Place. Indeed, Monkton is my 'true' home.

I would drive past Meadowhill on occasion. In recent years I thought
of stopping in - just to let whoever was living there know that I had lived
there many years before - but I did not want to impose upon somebody I
had never met. That is - until one day - while I was en route to Monkton
for a biking engagement, while passing Meadowhill, I saw somebody outside...

That was July 21. I stopped. I told the fellow that I had grown up there.
Such excitement. He and his wife were delighted to see me. They listened
intently to my tales of life back in the 1940's and 1950's. They were very
interested in the history of the house, too (it was built c-1886 in the
mansard style); I in turn returned several weeks later with some old photos.
They even took me on a tour of the house (or perhaps it was I taking them).
Such memories!

And, of course, the property's proximity to the Northern Central line
of the Pennsylvania Railroad while I was growing up had quite an impression
on me. Who knows what might have happened if there had been no trains in
my immediate turf back then. Er, I guess I might have eventually had to
actually go to 'work' for a living, rather than to enjoy so much fun in
the career as a railroader that developed.

The property is no longer known as Meadowhill. In fact, the current
owners knew nothing of the name until I told them. The meadow I so much
remember is now a forest; the top of the hill is now subdivided. But the
old house - with its rooms (with steam radiators) and so many memories
- is still its majestic self. It's truly an Enchanted Place!

MONKTON STATION:

With so much written about Monkton station in 19 years of Bull Sheets,
I need not dwell on its significance in my early life as another Enchanted
Place. Its story has already been told. That it is still around, and in
use by the public as a visitor center, makes each visit I make to it a
singular experience.

Such as it was August 16 when I went to the station to attend a meeting.
The NCR/Hereford Volunteers uses the building for its monthly meetings.
How appropriate! You will recall from the August issue that the NCR/Hereford
Volunteers are the ones who bought and installed the eight interpretive
signs that now adorn the Northern Central Railroad Trail. So impressed
was I of this project that I decided to join the group. Now I, too, can
participate in some of their activities.

There were 11 of us in attendance. Instinctively, I took a seat on 'my'
railroad bench - the bench I donated back to the station in 1989 from the
collection of all the benches from the station my father had bought from
the railroad following the last trip of the Parkton Local in 1959.

When it was my turn to speak, I gave a brief narrative of my love for
the station, moments I had experienced, and how my father and I had been
the last people to actually use the station on its final day of railroad
service. They seemed interested.

I then took a train order stick that was hanging on the wall, complete
with string and a message, and demonstrated its function. Such a thrill!
Such memories!

Yes, this is an Enchanted Place!

DIPPER'S CURVE:

About a mile north of Glatfelter's Station and about half a mile south
of Howard Tunnel in Pennsylvania, the Northern Central line hugged the
bank of Codorus Creek in a long, sweeping curve that, in the railroad days,
gave the passengers near the rear of the train an unobstructed view of
the train as it graced its way forward. The curve is still there, but trees
now obscure some of the view. It is not a true 'horseshoe' curve, but it
is as close to that description as any other curve along the present-day
trail.

Nobody is certain how Dipper's Curve got its name; some sources even
offer a different spelling. But it is a majestic place.

I have participated in numerous bicycling events around that curve in
recent years. Most recently it was August 17 (the day following my meeting
at Monkton station) as part of a Moonlight Bike Ride. We had begun at Seven
Valleys (where I had put on a demonstration for the kiddies using toy train
whistles) and proceeded northward through Glatfelter's, around Dipper's
Curve and Howard Tunnel to Twin Arch Bridge, where we stopped and then
reversed direction.

On the return trip I biked near the rear of the procession. The moon
shone brightly in the sky, but otherwise it was pitch dark as the lights
from each of our bikes lighted our way back in the direction to where we
had begun.

Just as we entered Dipper's Curve, I noticed a remarkable sight. With
the lights from all those bicycles snaking out ahead of me, the thought
immediately struck me... This was... a 'Train.'

Indeed, back in the 1960's, when PRR trains still plied the line, there
were occasions that I had peered out from the rear of the train to see
the phenomenon of lights from the train, along that same section of the
line, in a darkened landscape. And now, with bikes, I was seeing it once
again!

Dipper's Curve is a majestic place. But now, seeing this, and knowing
that I can see it over and over again on future moonlight rides, I know
of this as a truly Enchanted Place! Long may it be!

A Fond Farewell!

This issue is the last . . .

With this issue, the Bull Sheet completes 19 years of publication -
228 editions in all. I'm sure it has served a purpose, and I'm sure it
has touched a lot of hearts. It's been a lot of fun.

The Bull Sheet began in its current format to a distribution of about
20 readers in October 1986. It's an anomaly that it lasted as long as it
did. In fact, that very first issue was only intended as a 'commemorative'
offering, with no intention that it would continue. But it did.

Actually, the Bull Sheet began several years earlier than that as an
informal, hand-written note, using carbon paper, to selected friends on
a mostly-daily basis, to keep them advised of locomotive sightings and
other tidbits during my tenure as an operator at HX Tower near Baltimore.
These notes (sheets) ended when the tower closed in October 1985. Then,
one year later came the 'commemorative' issue, and the rest is history.

The support of the Bull Sheet's readers has been legendary. Many have
contributed material to its pages, and this is greatly appreciated...

Christopher Robin moved on to other things... so, too, must I.

Later this year I (and dog Cody) plan to move to a retirement home.
I need the time to prepare for and make the move, so now seems to be the
ideal time to end the publication. Anyway, I feel its time had come, even
if I did not use moving to a new location as the reason.

For those who will truly miss the publication, there really is a silver
lining. I do intend to keep current the website, at least for now. Most
elements of the site should continue unabated, and visitors should see
little change. Features that appear in the printed version normally get
added to the site anyway, so features that get produced from this date
forward can similarly be added.

Coincidentally, 500 copies of the printed version have been produced
in recent months, yet the website (as registered on a counter over a recent
four-month period) averaged almost 700 visits each day. This sends
a strong message... the internet is now a very effective medium, and it
is popular.

Once I complete my move and get settled in, I may even have more opportunity
to devote time to the website than I presently have. And, yes, the next
time I go Amtraking, that will be included too.

Within the next several weeks, statements will be sent to subscribers.
Prompt attention to this matter will be appreciated; I need to get on with
other things. Please do not send payments until you receive a statement,
and please do not send an amount greater than what is shown. This
is important. Any payment made in excess of the amount shown will be returned
(which will complicate bookkeeping). Or, if you prefer (and you make
your intention known), an overpayment (in excess of the statement amount)
will be sent to the Miller Tower Project in your name. Again, let me know
if this is what you want. I will be happy to oblige.